Read Online Meet Me in the Moon Room by Ray Vukcevich - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ray Vukcevich
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table with grocery sacks over our heads!”
Sacha giggled.
I decided to try silence on Jane. I could hear my own breathing against the sides of the bag, and with any little movement there was a rustle like dry autumn leaves in a green plastic trash sack. I could hear birds too. They would be in the feeder outside the window over the sink. They would fly away if they caught us looking at them.
I could pull the bag away from my face a little and look straight down and see my white shirt over the gut hanging into my lap. I could suck the gut in; I could sigh it out. I could see my tan slacks, my black loafers, and the black and white kitchen tiles.
Strange, but I couldn’t see the name of our grocery store through the bag. Had I put the bag on backwards? I twisted it around. I still couldn’t see the letters, and then I didn’t know which way the bag was. Were the red letters to the front or to the back? I felt unhooked, disoriented, lost.
Things suddenly got brighter. It is my opinion that that was when the comet touched the atmosphere, and because it didn’t hit just then, I think the last person on Earth quit looking at it at precisely that moment.
“Don’t you see the sudden light of the fire?”
“A cloud probably just moved away from the sun,” Jane said.
I thought I heard some uncertainty in her voice. “That’s what you’d like to think,” I said.
“How long are we going to play this game, Tim?”
How long? Why, just until the comet’s gone, I almost said. It hit me then that Jane’s question was a good one. If finally no one was looking at the comet, did that mean it went away, or did it mean the comet was hanging frozen just inside the atmosphere, filling the entire sky, ready to plunge down on us as soon as we looked? Didn’t that mean we could never look? Didn’t that mean we were doomed to sit there at the kitchen table with bags over our heads forever?
“It makes no sense,” Jane said. “What about intelligences on other planets? What if some alien shaman is looking at your comet through a telescope?”
“One of your saucer people?”
“At least there’s good evidence for them. Unlike your stupid comet.”
“Jane,” I said, “if you looked out the window right now you’d see the sky filled with fire, and just because you looked, the comet would crash down and blow us all up.”
“You’re scaring me, Daddy,” Sacha said.
“Don’t worry, honey.” I would have liked to touch her hand, but I couldn’t reach her. “Nothing can hurt you if you keep your head in the bag.”
“You’re teaching her to be an ostrich!”
“What’s an ostrich?” Sacha asked.
“Is that why you won’t let me have the weekends?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“I really, really have to go, Daddy,” Sacha said.
I heard them shifting in their chairs, moving around, trying to be quiet, but not succeeding. I heard them whispering. Fear turned me to stone. The game was up. I pictured Jane quietly slipping off her bag and setting it aside, pictured her carefully removing Sacha’s bag, saw Jane grin and roll her eyes in my direction and put her finger to her lips so Sacha would be quiet, saw them both looking at me stiff in my bag, the two of them, the little alien, the Russian girl, our surprising blond Sacha, and the big one, looking so sweetly sad suddenly, Jane. It wasn’t that she hated me, I realized. She’d moved on when I wasn’t looking. She was bored, restless; we had so little in common these days. She wandered like a wounded bird, one leg missing maybe, circling east, and I plodded ever westward. What in the world did we have to talk about?
I saw Sacha make an O of her mouth when she looked at the window and saw the comet peeking in at us like an angry red eye filling the sky. I saw the comet leap to Earth and fire the trees, the city, our house. Burning hurricane winds knocked down our walls and crisped our skin and peeled our bones.
I cried out.
Jane snatched the bag from my
Sacha giggled.
I decided to try silence on Jane. I could hear my own breathing against the sides of the bag, and with any little movement there was a rustle like dry autumn leaves in a green plastic trash sack. I could hear birds too. They would be in the feeder outside the window over the sink. They would fly away if they caught us looking at them.
I could pull the bag away from my face a little and look straight down and see my white shirt over the gut hanging into my lap. I could suck the gut in; I could sigh it out. I could see my tan slacks, my black loafers, and the black and white kitchen tiles.
Strange, but I couldn’t see the name of our grocery store through the bag. Had I put the bag on backwards? I twisted it around. I still couldn’t see the letters, and then I didn’t know which way the bag was. Were the red letters to the front or to the back? I felt unhooked, disoriented, lost.
Things suddenly got brighter. It is my opinion that that was when the comet touched the atmosphere, and because it didn’t hit just then, I think the last person on Earth quit looking at it at precisely that moment.
“Don’t you see the sudden light of the fire?”
“A cloud probably just moved away from the sun,” Jane said.
I thought I heard some uncertainty in her voice. “That’s what you’d like to think,” I said.
“How long are we going to play this game, Tim?”
How long? Why, just until the comet’s gone, I almost said. It hit me then that Jane’s question was a good one. If finally no one was looking at the comet, did that mean it went away, or did it mean the comet was hanging frozen just inside the atmosphere, filling the entire sky, ready to plunge down on us as soon as we looked? Didn’t that mean we could never look? Didn’t that mean we were doomed to sit there at the kitchen table with bags over our heads forever?
“It makes no sense,” Jane said. “What about intelligences on other planets? What if some alien shaman is looking at your comet through a telescope?”
“One of your saucer people?”
“At least there’s good evidence for them. Unlike your stupid comet.”
“Jane,” I said, “if you looked out the window right now you’d see the sky filled with fire, and just because you looked, the comet would crash down and blow us all up.”
“You’re scaring me, Daddy,” Sacha said.
“Don’t worry, honey.” I would have liked to touch her hand, but I couldn’t reach her. “Nothing can hurt you if you keep your head in the bag.”
“You’re teaching her to be an ostrich!”
“What’s an ostrich?” Sacha asked.
“Is that why you won’t let me have the weekends?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“I really, really have to go, Daddy,” Sacha said.
I heard them shifting in their chairs, moving around, trying to be quiet, but not succeeding. I heard them whispering. Fear turned me to stone. The game was up. I pictured Jane quietly slipping off her bag and setting it aside, pictured her carefully removing Sacha’s bag, saw Jane grin and roll her eyes in my direction and put her finger to her lips so Sacha would be quiet, saw them both looking at me stiff in my bag, the two of them, the little alien, the Russian girl, our surprising blond Sacha, and the big one, looking so sweetly sad suddenly, Jane. It wasn’t that she hated me, I realized. She’d moved on when I wasn’t looking. She was bored, restless; we had so little in common these days. She wandered like a wounded bird, one leg missing maybe, circling east, and I plodded ever westward. What in the world did we have to talk about?
I saw Sacha make an O of her mouth when she looked at the window and saw the comet peeking in at us like an angry red eye filling the sky. I saw the comet leap to Earth and fire the trees, the city, our house. Burning hurricane winds knocked down our walls and crisped our skin and peeled our bones.
I cried out.
Jane snatched the bag from my
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